One With You
by mia101
Summary: A follow-up to "Never In Dream" from Brennan's POV.


_**A/N: so, this is basically Bren's POV from my other fic, "Never In Dream". I considered writing an entirely different story from her perspective in first person, but then decided that this would be too fun to pass up. I hope that it isn't too redundant, but i really thought it would be fun to explore her motivations for her bold move, and since it was fairly light on the dialogue, figured it wouldn't be too frustrating. xoxo mia**_

**and again with my PSA...**

**i tend to not write protected sex in my M rated fiction. often times it's mentioned, sometimes I don't bring it up. The reason for this is that it's fantasy, not reality. In reality, I work for an AIDS foundation, and i see what unsafe sex can do to people all the time. please, please, please practice safe sex. i hear every day from people that they can't believe they didn't protect themselves, that they didn't think to insist on it. fictional characters don't have to worry about STI's -- we, unfortunately, do. (stepping off my soapbox.)**

**One With You**

a one shot.

I'm in a prodigious mood.

Rolling over amongst my sheets, I let out a satisfied sigh, pulling my arms above my head, and stretching my trapezius and deltoid muscles. I've just had the most delicious of dreams, and while I can't exactly recall _whom _it was giving me such mind-blowing oral sex, it is hardly important. All that matters is that I've awoken feeling incredibly satisfied, and it's only half past six.

I close my eyes again, and for a moment there is a flash – strong shoulders and dark hair between my legs, my fingers curling into the strands. Whomever decided to make an appearance, he's certainly skilled. I wonder briefly if I should consider consulting the book given to me last Christmas by Angela on dream theory. While I'd somewhat dismissed it at the time, considering it to be a soft science if a science at _all_, I'm suddenly curious to see if a stranger performing cunnilingus so well that I think I may have orgasmed in my sleep is a common occurrence for others. The dampness between my legs certainly indicates it is a possibility.

Maybe when I get home.

I let my head loll lazily to the left towards one of the large picture windows in my bedroom. There is only a hint of light glowing through the sheer curtains -- it's still early. Still, I'm suddenly filled with energy, and shoving back the sheets, I climb easily from the bed, tugging my robe dreamily from the back of a chair. A shower sounds heavenly.

--

Finishing the last few buttons on my dress shirt, I glance quickly in the mirror. My cheeks are flushed a light pink, and my eyes are quite bright this morning. Sharing a brief and secret smile with my reflection, I grab my shoes on the way out the bedroom, snatching my keys from the ceramic bowl I keep near the door. I think I'll stop and get coffee – maybe for Booth as well.

As I slip behind the driver's seat of my car, I decide to skip public radio this morning, content to watch the scenery of DC slip by. It's been a long time since I've awoken feeling so refreshed and ready to start the day. I try to count how many months it's been since I've had a sexual partner, and for the first time this morning, I frown.

I can't remember.

Drumming my fingers on the steering wheel, I think back over the months in detail, searching for a man amidst the memories and can only see a constant and steady filmstrip of my partner, playing like a movie.

Sully? Must be Sully. Has it really been that long…? I suppose after he first left, I wasn't really feeling particularly inclined to date anyone. My libido had been somewhat… less active. And I've had plenty of companionship – Booth is excellent for that.

Still.

I should probably consider dating again. That dream was most likely an internally wired biological reminder – my body's been craving a release of some kind. I suppose I could consult the website I used to meet David. While he didn't end up being a satisfactory long-term partner, he was quite skilled in the bedroom, and a nice dinner companion. Maybe I'll update my profile over my lunch break.

I decide while standing in line at the cafe that I _will_ get Booth a coffee. He's most likely up by now, and I've stopped by in the morning on previous occasions for one reason or another. I haven't seen him the last few days – we don't currently have a case open, and it feels strange not to have him waltz into my office several times a day. At least we can have a cup of coffee. Maybe I'll even skip the dating website on my break and see if he wants to have lunch.

--

He doesn't answer when I ring the doorbell, and I pause. Maybe he's in the shower. Mentally I flip through his schedule, trying to determine whether or not last night was his weeknight with Parker, and if he may be gone, dropping him at school. A quick glance at the driveway confirms his truck is pulled close to the garage – he's home.

I extend my pinky from one of the hands holding the cups, again pressing the doorbell, and I finally hear his voice from deep inside the house, grumbling a response, and a smack of something hitting a wall.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. He sounds irritable.

The door flies open with a swift yank, and my partner is suddenly in front of me, his hair mussed and bare-chested. And, as my eyes slide lower, I find he is not only wearing a pair of cotton sleep pants -- he's also wearing an extremely prominent erection.

_Oh._

"Bones," he croaks, his voice sounding strangled. "What are you doing here?"

I clear my throat, my arm shooting out with one of the cups of coffee. _This was not something I anticipated. _ "I woke up too early."

"You and me both," he mumbles, stepping back to allow me in. He turns quickly, disappearing down the hall at a swift speed, and I follow behind him, tailing him as we reach the kitchen.

I drop into a chair at the breakfast bar, leaning forward, still holding my own coffee. "Why aren't you dressed? I thought you'd be up by now."

He practically takes the door off when he opens the refrigerator. "I overslept – you want some toast?"

I nod, frowning suddenly, the coffee in my mouth tasting sweet and – odd. "I think they put something in here -- like… a flavor or something."

He suddenly slaps a carton of orange juice on the counter, causing me to nearly spill hot coffee on myself when I jump. I look at him quickly, frowning. The way he's standing is peculiar, his body turned away from me, and he's positively scowling. Knowing Booth, he's most likely embarrassed to have been caught in such a state, but really, it shouldn't be so upsetting. He's been known to act prudish upon occasion, but it's perfectly natural. And anthropologically speaking, men often find erections of that magnitude to be indicative of their… prowess, displaying them prominently.

_Does he have the heat turned up? _I suddenly feel a flush around my collar, and shed the light jacket I'm wearing_. _If he wasn't in such a foul mood, I'd tell him that having the heat on when it's such a moderate temperature outside is a waste of energy and resources, not to mention increasing his gas bill.

He slams the door shut and the refrigerator rattles. "What is _with _you?" I ask, startled again. Maybe something else is going on with him to have him so irritable this early. "Did something happen?"

"No," he says grumpily. He dumps two pieces of bread into his toaster and punches down the lever. "I'm going to take a shower."

He seems positively desperate to escape me. Did I say something to offend him? It certainly won't be the first time, nor will it be the first time I've done so unconsciously. Rising from my seat behind the counter, I stand in his way towards the bathroom. "Are you mad at me?"

He looks furious and… trapped. "No," he mutters, his jaw tight. I can see his adam's apple working in his throat, and I suddenly smile slowly. It _is_ embarrassment. And clearly, he's also frustrated, because as I glance down, his erection hasn't subsided in the least. "Is _that_ why you're in such a horrible mood?"

A range of emotions pass over his face. He first appears to be in a state of disbelief, which swiftly moves to a flash of embarrassment. But it's the irritation and general crabbiness that ends up dominating. And when he passes by me, I'm actually surprised, because I hear him mutter, "_Well, it's your damn fault."_

My fault?

I frown for a second, and I hear the bathroom door slam shut after him. _My fault?? But he answered the door that way! Which means… _

_OH._

Suddenly I'm a whirl of emotions myself – annoyance at being blamed, amusement that he's so worked up over a dream and also…

More than a little flattered as well as quite turned on. And suddenly my dream again flashes before me and when my pseudo-lover lifts his head from between my thighs, I recognize him, even in only that quick instant – I see his eyes.

It was my partner that blew my mind. _My partner._

Before I change my mind, I take off after him, not even hesitating when I throw open the door. The shower is already running behind him, the first hints of steam billowing out behind the curtain, filling the room.

"What are you _doing?"_ he hisses in astonishment. I see him reach for the towel to cover himself, but a small, evil part of me decides not to allow it, and I snap it off the bar before he's even had the chance.

"What did you say to me back there?" I ask slowly, attempting to remain impassive. "Did you say it was _my _fault?"

He looks horrified, and I almost smile at the flash of fear that sweeps over his face – it's something I rarely see.

And then I allow my eyes to slide down his flat stomach to find that he's still hard as a rock. It's quite impressive, and more than a little stimulating. I feel my nipples involuntarily tighten beneath my shirt, and my eyes widen a bit.

"Bones, you have got to be _kidding_ me – we're going to be late for work!" he nearly shouts.

I tilt my head in the direction of his crotch. "You had that when you answered the door," I say matter-of-factly, wanting an admittance of some sort.

His hand snaps out, and he's practically growling at me. "Give me the damn towel."

_Oh, so he's going to be stubborn?? Get me in here with a comment like that and then make me feel like I'm being ridiculous? I think not._

He starts to reach for his sleep pants and I suddenly leap forward, snagging them at the same time he does, and when we both stand up, we're holding either end.

"_Let go."_

He tries to wrestle them from me, clearly becoming desperate, and looking no closer to admitting why he's really so upset with me. Apparently, I've left him hanging. And I suppose I can understand his irritation. But the longer we stand here, the longer I'm in front of him when he's so obviously aroused, the less I'm thinking about winning any sort of argument. Instead, I'm realizing that he's hard like that because of _me._ I turned him on while he was sleeping, and I've kept him that way since my arrival. _Me._

That's so incredibly… _sexy._

I find I suddenly have very little interest in dreams of any kind, or internet dating or even going to work – I want to know what Seeley Booth feels like in the here and now. Dropping my end of the pajamas, I instead reach out and wrap my fingers around the part of him that's been taunting me for the last several minutes.

_Oh, my._ He's incredibly hard, his skin pulsing and warm under my hand – and large.

I hear him inhale sharply, and his own fingers are suddenly winding tightly around my wrist of the hand that holds him. Still, he doesn't pull me away, and so I step closer, "I did this to you? Me? Before I even got here?"

His hand tightens where he holds me, but he doesn't make any other move. His eyes are unfocused, settling somewhere over my head, and I smile. He might be angry, but part of him likes this – part of him doesn't want me to stop. _A very important part._ Which is a good thing, because suddenly I find myself unable to pull away either, words tumbling from my mouth.

"So you were dreaming of me?" I ask, tilting my head, studying the tightness in his jaw. "Is that it?"

He swallows, remaining silent, and I stroke him lightly, feeling the velvety skin beneath a single finger. "Were you?"

"_Yes!_" he suddenly hisses, his eyes clamping shut. "Yes, okay? I was dreaming about you, damnit. You win."

I should step back. As much as I'm enjoying the feel of him in my hand, as much as my body's responding to the sound of his labored breathing and the heaving of his broad chest, I should let go and leave the room. We're partners, and I've already crossed his ridiculous and ever-present line. He probably won't speak to me for a week. I can only imagine what therapy will be like. Given the consequences, this isn't at all rational -- I should walk away.

But I don't. I want to know more, I want to know what I did, what I said in his dreams to leave him feeling so desperate, so unsatisfied. My whole body feels flushed, and my legs feel both heavy and light at the same time.

"What was I doing?" I say, my voice barely a whisper.

"Are you _kidding me?_" he rasps, his eyes flying open. "Bones –"

"Was I doing this?" I ask softly, stroking him with my entire hand.

"_No,_" he gasps, his eyes locking with mine. "No."

"No?" I lean forward, the broad expanse of his chest and display of bronze skin suddenly all I can focus on. "What was I doing? Was I doing this?"

And I kiss him, opening my mouth hotly against his pectorals, flickering my tongue over his skin, and I hear his voice, low, breathless. "Oh, god…"

Moving towards his shoulder, I use my teeth lightly, my other hand sliding over his hip to grab a strong, muscled buttock. His hand is immediately fisting into my hair, causing my heart to race. The taste of his skin is intoxicating, more than I'd anticipated. Everywhere I touch is firm and hard and strong. He's incredibly masculine, and it's doing things to me I never could have imagined. My head is swirling with images of us together, of the things I could do to him, the things he could do to me…

"This?" I murmur softly, sweeping back towards his nipple, sucking it lightly, and I feel him shiver. He's still standing firmly in place, almost as if he's unable to move, and I realize that at the moment, I'm completely and utterly in control.

"No," he barely chokes out in response.

My fantasy continues, racing through me, my breasts swelling in my bra, the nipples as hard as him under my hand. I let my lips just brush over the exposed skin of his throat as I sweep my thumb over the tip of his erection and find it slick with moisture -- my panties dampen further, an almost immediate response. "Was my mouth on you?"

He can't manage an answer. His breathing is heavy, his fingers that are still curled into my hair the only touch I've received. And I want him to touch me, want him to forget about his damn line and even our partnership and just make me feel the way he did this morning, before he was ever in front of me in the flesh.

And so I say what I think will send him over the edge, what I imagine will finally make his hands move over me, to touch me the way I want him to. Because what I ask him is more of a request than a question.

"_Were you inside me?"_

He's gasping suddenly, yanking my hair, my head snapping back sharply until our eyes meet. "_No!" _he rasps.. "No, god _no._ I always wake up first, I never get to feel you, get to –

My eyes widen. _This isn't the first time..? _My jaw practically drops. _I'm in my partner's dreams, turning him on, bringing him to the brink? All while he bickers with me about my choice of topics, shushing me any time i reference sex? He's at home, hard for me?  
_

Dear god. That's the _sexiest _thing I've ever heard in my entire life.

And before another thought is allowed to race through my head, he's kissing me. His large, strong hand cups the back of my head and his tongue is immediately thrusting past my lips, sweeping quickly through my mouth. Gasping, my knees grow week, my crotch clutching tightly. _Oh, my. Is it even a kiss anymore when it feels this good??_

His hands fly to the buttons of my shirt as my tongue dances with his, and I press forward into him, into his arousal, feeling him against my thigh through my skirt. I'm so turned on at this point that I barely register the fact that his hands have grasped both sides of my blouse, and, with a sharp yank, the buttons fly in all directions. I hear them hit the ceramic surface of the sink and bounce over the tiles, and dear _god,_ he's _tearing my clothes off_.

I'm about to say something but his mouth is on mine again before I even figure out what that something is. My shirt is pushed off my shoulders and yanked over my wrists, and immediately his left hand returns to snap open the clasp of my bra, all the while his mouth against my own, his tongue exploring the inside of my cheek and the line of my teeth.

Desperate for contact, I press my bare chest against his, moaning at the feel of his body against my skin. But he's got other ideas, because his lips are suddenly sucking at my throat and his hands slide up over my hips under my arms. And before I even realize what he's doing, I'm being pushed up and against the wall, his hot, wet mouth fastening to the tip of my breast. The muscles of his arms bulge as he lifts the weight of my body, and my hands fall on them, fascinated. His name escapes me then, gasped as his tongue rolls over the hardened peak of my nipple. I'm unable to do anything other than feel in this position, my feet suspended several inches from the bathroom floor as he holds me up to his mouth.

I'm chanting his name before he finally sets me down, and then his large hand is cupping the full weight of my breast, his palm stroking, his thumb rolling over the damp peak. _Dear, god._ Seeley Booth's the kind of lover I thought only existed in fantasy. Seeley Booth -- my partner. Under my nose this entire time.

My hands tangle momentarily in his hair, tugging his mouth to mine, but as soon as I feel the wild and urgent slip of his tongue, I lay my palms against his strong chest, propelling him backwards, pressing him into the wall nearest the shower. The rush of hot water is making the room even hotter, the moisture from the steam clinging to our hair and skin. I'm slick and warm between my legs, heavy with arousal, and when he suddenly lassos an arm around my waist, I gasp as he easily swings me up and over the rim of the tub and dumps me under the hot spray of water. His aggressiveness and the desperate quality to his movements only heighten my own excitement, and I reach for him as he climbs in after me.

I'm kicking off my shoes as he backs me into the tiled wall. I feel his hands at the hem of my skirt, and he shoves it desperately over my hips, bunching the wet fabric around my waist. I'm throbbing, all the blood in my body rushing to meet between my legs, and I'm not sure if I'm even capable of thought as I struggle to climb up onto the back ledge of the tub and wrap myself around his body. All I know is that I want the heat and hardness I've felt with my hand pressing against me, pressing into me. I don't care that shampoo and soap crash around his feet before I'm able to wind my legs around his waist – the feeling when I'm finally in his arms, my back up against the wet tile is too incredible to describe with words.

Sharp, hot breaths burst against my bare shoulder as he buries his head near my neck, and I undulate my hips against him, my head falling back as I again call his name.

"Do you want me inside you?" he rasps, his voice gravelly and low and _sexy_, traveling through my body, making me shudder. "Is that why you asked, is that what you _want?"_

_God, yes._

But I can only moan, rolling my hips against him, asking with my body instead of with words. My panties are drenched, both from the water from the shower and from my own desire, and when he slides his hand between us, pulling the cotton to the side, I can barely see my vision is so hazy.

"Is this what you want?" he persists, his voice strained with his own arousal. "Tell me, Temperance. I need to hear you say it."

The sound of my name, my _first name_ on his lips is a further push towards the edge, and I grab a fistful of his hair, tugging as I squeeze my thighs more tightly around his hips. My whole body throbs in time with my heartbeat, thoughts longer than single words simply scattering.

And then he slips a finger over my clit and I'm lost, begging -- breathless. "_Yes, I want you, want you inside me," _I plead. I can see the effect my words have, can see the widening in his eyes; feel the shudder that travels throughout his body, and so I say it again.

"_God, yes."_

And then he's inside me, the hard, hot length of him filling me all the way up. I was empty and now we're joined together, and I'm unable to even feel or understand where one of us ends and the other begins. Instead of closing my eyes, I meet his own, my whole body flushed and rolling with his, and I _see_, I _know _now what he meant that night, what he wanted me to understand. This is no dream or fantasy…

_We're one._


End file.
